Wonderland
by estrafalaria103
Summary: Post season finale. Jack struggles to adjust to the world he lives in, while Kate tries to move forward. But there are faces returning from the dead,abd some of the survivors never made it off the island. What's going on beyond the looking glass? JJKS, CC
1. Chapter 1

Kate wiped away a tear as the plane flew overhead. She knew what he meant, about wanting to get back to the Island. God, that was all she wanted, too, at times. But it was past, that time was past, and she had new responsibilities now. Besides, there was no way to get back. Planes had circled over the area for months after they'd been rescued, and every few years another group tried to go back. It wasn't there anymore, and that was all there was to it.

Her phone rang again. Before she'd even touched it she knew it was him again. She didn't want to pick it up. Her hands began trembling on the wheel just thinking about it. He wanted too much out of her, he demanded things she couldn't give him. He wanted her to fix him, and she just couldn't do it. She didn't fix people. That's what Jack was supposed to be doing.

So she ignored the phone, let the ringing be drowned out by Patty Cline. She firmed her hands around the wheel, knuckles turning white. Another plane flew by, and she wondered who was on it.

She'd hoped that Jack was getting better, that he was recovering a little of who he used to be. When she'd seen the news, seen that he was playing the hero again, she'd thought that maybe, just maybe. . .but then Claire had shot that thought down, staring at the television.

"What was Jack doing on that bridge at two am?" She'd asked. Kate hadn't an answer.

Her phone rang again. Oh, God, she thought, why had he been on that bridge? And now the funeral. . .what if he really needed her this time, what if she could actually help?

She didn't want to pick up the phone, but she did anyway. "Jack, please," she said, and was disgusted with the way her voice sounded on the point of breaking. Disgusted, mostly, because that was how she felt on the inside, too. Why couldn't her life be easy, ever? What did it say, that some of the best times of her life had been on an island, running from polar bears and mad scientists, unsure if she would even be alive from day to day?

"Kate, who's watching him?" he asked, and there was a new urgency to his voice now. Not just despair, and that made her glad.

"Charlie," she said. "Well, Claire's probably home by now, too. We left at the same time, and she didn't have to make a detour. . ." she stopped herself from babbling, bit her lip. She'd almost missed her exit.

"Kate. . ." Jack paused for a moment. A hint of static came through, and Kate wondered whether the connection would hold. But when he spoke again his voice was strong and firm, and sounded as though he were right next to her. "How did Charlie get here? He wasn't with us when the helicopters came. Kate, how did he get off the island?"

She could feel the tremors taking over again, and she pulled to the side of the road. They'd been over this argument before, but never with Charlie. How had they gotten off the island. . .she remembered the helicopters coming, remembered seeing them in the air. And she seemed to remember the doors opening, and something coming out, someone, but then it was fuzzy and confused until she woke up in a hospital bed and the men from Oceanic were standing there, apologizing and handing out Golden Passes. But they'd gotten off, wasn't that all that really mattered?

"Maybe they went back for him," Kate mumbled. And then, grasping at the explanation they'd been offered, "Jack, maybe he wasn't even on the island. Maybe he was one of the hallucinations."

"There weren't any hallucinations," Jack said darkly. Kate was glad she wasn't driving. This was the point that Jack wouldn't give up, _couldn't_ give up. Oceanic had explained about the noxious gases found on the island, explained how they could have made them see things, dream things that weren't real. Polar bears, for example, or a black horse wandering around. Maybe even people, Oceanic had suggested. They might even have met people who weren't real. It was a scarier thought, but easier to accept than the other. That everyone had been real, that they'd escaped, those of them at the radio tower, and that they'd _left the others behind_.

"Kate, you came back pregnant," he said harshly. "That wasn't a hallucination."

"But maybe—"

"Jin and Bernard. . .they weren't hallucinations."

"Not everyone survived the crash, Jack. . ."

"Kate," and now he was struggling to say something. "My father was dead before the crash. He was dead, Kate, I was bringing his body home, that's why I was on the plane, and now I'm working with him. Kate, he's alive, and drunk as ever, and still working. Something happened on that Island, Kate, or something didn't happen that should have."

"Jack, I'm not discussing this with you," she said, sharply, and a thought came to her head, absent and disconnected. From the island, then, all of her memories of the island were disjointed more so everyday. _You run, I con. Tiger don't change its stripes._ But she wasn't running, she wasn't. She was accepting her life, the way it was now. She wasn't running.

"I have to go home. He'll be waiting for me, and Charlie and Claire will be wanting to go to bed. . ."

"Kate, you know who his father is," Jack said, and she wondered if that was more painful for her to hear, or him to say. "Was he a hallucination?"

"Good-bye, Jack," she said, and managed to keep from crying until the phone was hung up. He wouldn't call again that night, probably not for a week. They never talked after he was brought up—too painful for the both of them, and though Jack was self-destructive himself, he still hated bringing pain to other people.

It took a moment for her to gather herself. She wished she kept Kleenex in the car, but knew she'd forget to grab a box from the apartment. She took deep breaths, counted to five. Jack had taught her that, she remembered. Sad that he couldn't seem to remember it himself.

The car pulled smoothly back onto the highway. Kate kept breathing slowly, in and out, glad that traffic on the highway was late. The Paces lived close to the airport—that was a blessing at least. She pulled into their driveway about ten minutes after hanging up with Jack. It was a small house, cute, with well-tended flowers and curtains that billowed when summer breezes blew. The flowers and the curtains, those were Claire's touches, but the large British flag flying just outside the front door was all Charlie.

The door was opened before she'd even raised a hand to knock, Claire's worried face appearing. "How is she?" she asked quietly as she ushered Kate into the room. "Is it a bad day for him?"

"The funeral," Kate explained. Claire bit her lip and nodded her head.

"Charlie thought about going," she said. "I had to talk him out of it. I think he just wanted to make sure the bastard was really dead this time."

Kate shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. That was their last tie to the island, the last tie they'd been unwilling or unable to break, at least. She'd hoped that his death would mean they could finally begin on their new lives without backwards glances, but Jack at least, seemed even more determined to return to the past. She glanced past Claire's shoulder to the living room, where she could see bright lights playing on the far wall, and hear the sound of explosions.

"James was great," Claire said hurriedly. "You know that Charlie loves when the other kids come over. They had a blast."

"And now they're watching an overly violent film, I suppose," Kate said wryly. Claire smiled guiltily.

"Aaron's been dying to watch it for days, but of course he couldn't when Tian was here. The minute Sun picked her up, though he was at the remote. I hope you don't mind."

"It's fine," Kate said, shrugging. There were worse things her son could see than fake people being blown up. Besides, she was hardly the person to lecture him about violence. "I just hope he's not too devastated when I make him leave."

The two women walked into the room, greeted by the sight of the two young boys sitting on he couch, staring slack-jawed at Bruce Willis attacking a gang of aliens. Sitting beside them was an equally absorbed Charlie.

"Good movie," Kate said. Charlie jumped about a foot in the air, and James turned to her, a serious look in his green eyes and said "Shhhh" louder than she had said anything. Smiling, Kate waved off Charlie's protestations of innocence ("Aaron made me do it. He's almost bigger than me now, I was afraid the bloke might do me in!") and sat down beside her son. She ruffled his blond hair, earning an agonized "MOM!" and settled in to watch the movie. That was just what she needed, she thought. Plenty of carnage to get her mind off what Jack had said. Still, her eyes drifted over to Charlie where he sat. It didn't matter how he'd gotten home, she reminded herself sternly. What mattered was that he had.

0000000000000

Sawyer was getting bored, and that was putting it lightly. He paced back and forth, poking irritably at the ground with a large stick. Hurley watched the pacing as though it were an Olympic sport, his gaze following the conman back and forth. Sayid, meanwhile, had taken the practical job of moving the bodies into a pile. Bernard and Jin continued to sit on the sand, watching the sea peacefully.

"This is ridiculous!" Sawyer burst out, the second time in a half hour. "Jackass said they were calling help, that they'd be here in an hour. What the hell is taking so long?"

"Jack told us to wait," Sayid said patiently. "He would have radioed us if there had been a change."

"Yeah, well, what if something happened?" Sawyer snarled. "Did you think of that, Rambo? What if they didn't have time to radio?"

"We will wait an hour," Sayid said. "If we still have no news within an hour, we will head after them."

"I ain't waiting no hour," Sawyer said. He poked at the walkie talkie, which lay on the ground now, shattered after he'd thrown it angrily at a rock "They didn't answer last time we called, and if you ask me, that means bad news."

"You are worried about Kate," Sayid said. "That is understandable. But Jack—"

"I don't care what the doc said! He was gonna let them die, remember that, Apu? He was gonna let Zeke kill them, and it was luck that he didn't. He don't care what happens to us!"

"But you do care," Sayid said softly. "Not just what happens to us, but what happens to them, as well." He seemed to consider this revelation for a moment, as Sawyer shifted anxiously. He poked the ground again with the stick. He didn't want to go off on his own, but if that was what it came to. . .

"Very well," Sayid said finally. "We will all go."

"More trekking?" Hurley asked wearily. Sawyer grinned, tight and hard.

"What would make you say that?" he asked, gesturing over his shoulder. "Why would we trek when we got Herbie over there, ready to take us up the mountain?"

Hurley smiled at that, a genuine smile, and rushed over to grab Bernard and Jin. Sayid sighed.

"I will tell Juliet," he said, "though I doubt she wants to hear much from me."

Sawyer ground his teeth in frustration as Sayid walked toward the jungle. Juliet had disappeared moments after the fighting at ended. She'd stared at Brian and Tom, lying lifeless, and just taken off. In a moment, he followed after the Iraqi. The two didn't exchange any words, they just walked until they came to the graveyard. Juliet stood at the fringes, arms crossed, blue eyes dull and lifeless.

"They weren't bad people," she said finally. "Brian, maybe, Brian was hard, but Tom. . .Tom was good. He followed Ben too loyally, but he was good."

"I am sorry for your loss," Sayid said solemnly. Sawyer shrugged. He'd never been good at good-byes, or at comforting people, and right now his mind was stuck with the people at the radio tower.

"We're goin back," he said gruffly. "To Jack and Kate and the rest. Make sure nothing's gone wrong."

"It has been a while," Juliet agreed. She sighed, and stared at the graveyard again. "Did we do all of this?" she asked.

"No," Sawyer said. "Most of that was us." Sayid took Juliet's arm, and gently guided her back to the beach. Hurley and the others were already in the van, ready to go, and they clambered into the backseat.

Amazingly, the truck was able to make it all the way to the radio tower, though there was one scary moment overtopping cliffs. Still, it had taken less than a third of the time walking would have. Though when the red radio tower came into view, Sawyer wasn't so sure that they'd wanted to move so fast after all.

"Where is everyone?" He asked. He stared around the area. Jin bent down, and mumbled something in quick Korean. "What the hell did he say?"

Jin sighed, and stood up. "They was here," he said, slowly and with great difficulty.

"That don't do us no good," Sawyer said impatiently. "Where are they now?" Jin shrugged his shoulders.

"James!" Juliet said, sharply. She was standing beside a small, brown house, adjacent to the tower. Sayid moved out in the opposite direction, presumably looking for people, while Hurley, Bernard, and Jin remained in a huddle around the bus. He walked over to her.

"I think I found them," she said, and nodded toward the building. As he moved toward it, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry."

He looked at her for a moment. What the hell was she talking about? Still, in his stomach he felt a sinking sensation, he felt like he was going to vomit, and he suddenly didn't want to look in the hut anymore. But Juliet's eyes were there behind him, and dammit it, he had to _know_.

The bodies were piled in one corner, arms and legs all in a tangle. He swallowed hard. Why were his lips so salty? Why did his throat hurt? He took a step forward, and he couldn't see clearly anymore, everything was a jumble of blonde hair, and brown, man and woman, all colors and shapes and. . .

He put one hand to his throat, choked, took a deep breath. He wiped at his eyes, and that made it a little better. And then, there it was, beneath a heavy arm. Curly brown hair, freckles. . .

He fell to his knees and cried.


	2. Chapter 2

Shannon hated to watch the news. It wasn't just that she disliked watching it—she seriously hated it, with all the vehemence in the world. She hated it more than her step-mother, more than Boone's constant coddling, more even then (she found this hard to believe) the recent reappearance of faux fur in the fashion industry. Yet on that particular Tuesday, she couldn't move from her seat.

"Boone!" she yelled, one spoon of ice cream halfway to her mouth. "Hey, Boone!"

Her brother came careening into the room, nearly tripping over himself with a puppy-like desire to please. "What? What's wrong? Oh my God, Shannon, are you okay?"

"Isn't that Jack?" she asked, completely nonplussed by his frantic disappearance. Boone looked as though he were going to reprimand her for her overly dramatic yelling, but a glance at the television immediately silenced him.

It _was_ Jack, Shannon was sure of it. Even more sure when the reporter went on to describe the man's heroic actions. It looked like him, too, mostly, though Shannon couldn't remember him ever having had a beard, and there were dark circles under his eyes that she'd never seen before.

"But it can't be," Boone protested, shaking his head. "They told us he died. They told us that everyone else died. . .that we were the only survivors."

"Well, dumbass, obviously they lied," Shannon snapped. "And don't give me that crap about hallucinations. I knew there was something fishy going on, I just knew it!"

She was almost relieved at the impossibility of seeing Jack on the television screen. It hadn't all added up, what Oceanic had told her. That the shot she'd taken to her chest had only knocked her out, that whoever had shot her had quickly taken out the rest of the survivors. That when the rescue plane had come she'd been the only one breathing. It seemed too impossible at the time. And then, after she'd been interviewed and been approached by the modeling agency, Boone had turned up on her doorstep. Silly Boone, with his hair cut too long, and that goofy grin on his face. She'd fainted immediately, of course.

He'd told he a crazy story, a conspiracy where Jack had kept him in isolation, had given him sedatives to slow down his heart and keep the blood pumping. That when rescue had come they' found everyone dead, bullets in their hearts. Only Boone was alive, kept so by the medicines.

But Shannon had been so sure he'd died. She'd gone to the funeral. She'd cried at his grave. Yet, impossibly, she'd had to admit that he was standing in front of her, solid as any human, with the same clinginess that she'd always resented.

She stood up abruptly, dropping the spoon on the floor. Boone hurried forward to pick it up as Shannon proceeded to pace angrily across the floor, running her hands through her hair. Boone had come back alive. . .and now Jack. . .was it possible that everyone else had survived as well? Kate and Sun and—and Sayid?

"Where did that lady say Jack was?" She asked her brother, plucking the spoon out of his hand. She put the ice cream back in the fridge and washed it herself while waiting for a response.

"I don't remember. . ." Boone said, his brow furrowed. When she glared at him, he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Honest, I don't! LA, maybe, that's where he was before."

Shannon nodded her head. "Excellent," she said. "I wouldn't mind visiting LA again."

"What?" Boone shook his head, walking toward her. He gripped her upper arms tightly, brought his face to within inches of hers. "Are you crazy? We can't just pick up and go to LA. It's a huge city. How are you going to find him? Jus walk around asking people if they know where Hero Jack Shepherd lives?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Shannon snapped. "Look, it's not like anyone's going to miss us. Your business is taken care of by subordinates, and I'll cancel a few shoots. It's not like we'll miss the money."

"It's probably not him anyway," Boone said, but his voice had lost some of its spirit. "You heard what they told us. Everyone died. . ."

"Yeah, well, if it looks like Jack, acts like Jack, and has the same name as Jack, I'm just going to go out on a crazy limb here and think it might actually _be_ Jack. That maybe Oceanic lied to us."

"Why—?" Boone shook his head. He lowered his hands, rolled his eyes heavenward. "Okay, fine," he said. "We'll go to LA. I just don't want you to get your hopes up. It's been twelve years. Everyone's moved on. You don't know how much he's changed."

Shannon blinked hard, furiously, fighting back tears that had risen unbidden o her eyes. It was true. A dozen years since the island. And, she remembered suddenly, there had been another woman. That picture that he carried around with him everyone. Some woman from back home, from before the island. She was the reason he'd been going to LA in the first place.

Boone squeezed her hand, once, gently, and then headed into his bedroom, presumably to pack. Shannon took a deep breath, reminding herself that this wasn't all just about one man, anyway. It was also about the lie that she'd been living. Her life had been shit before the island, but then, since she'd been rescued, everything had fallen into place. The modeling jobs, the acceptance into the dance company, even meeting Boone again, and building a relationship with him that wasn't based on hatred and lust. No man, that was true, but she was young, beautiful, with a burgeoning career in front of her.

Oceanic's story hadn't made sense, and the suddenly perfect life hadn't made sense, either. And now, suddenly, here was the chance to maybe find out why. Sayid or no Sayid, broken heart or not, she was heading to L.A.

00000000000

Richard knew very well what Ben's orders had been. To move the people. But Ben was losing it. First Ben had let the kid go, let Walt sail off when he knew, _knew_ that Jacob wanted the boy. And then Locke's mysterious disappearance. . .an accident, Ben had said. Richard knew he wasn't the only one who remembered what had really happened the last time Ben had been around for an "accident" – the annihilation of the entire Dharma Initiative.

And then Mikhail had been sent to the Looking Glass, and Brian and Tom had disappeared to the beach. Ben had gone off on his own little wonder hike, and suddenly Richard found himself in charge, once again, he knew full well that wasn't where he belonged. He looked at his people, all with their belongings gathered, looking to him for leadership. But he didn't have any answers for them.

"Ben wants us to move," he said thickly. He looked around, everyone's faces, blank, ageless, waiting expectantly. "But that's what Ben wants. And I'm not sure that Ben wants what's best for us anymore."

Still no reaction to that, not even from some of the younger members. Even they had lived long enough to gain that eternal patience. Richard sighed.

"We're in danger," he said, trying to keep his voice smooth and calm. "Danger from the Others, and danger from the Outside world. It looks as though Dharma has found our island again."

There was a little ripple at that, people shifting uncomfortably, scared of what that meant. Richard held up his hand, and the crowd grew silent again.

"The runway isn't finished," he said. "And if we don't get to work it won't be. And then it won't matter how much danger we're in. Even if we survive, if that runway isn't finished, it won't be for anything."

"So what are you suggesting, then?" One young man asked, hair tousled by the wind. Patrick. He'd always bristled under Ben's leadership, particularly in the last few weeks. Not that Richard blamed him. Everyone had found Ben to be chafing.

"We're going back," he said. "Not to the safe place. We're going back to the island and we're going to finish the runway."

Patrick opened his mouth, as though he were about to say something, and then closed it. Everyone else simply nodded their heads, waiting for the next movement. Richard stared at all of them for a moment. Everyone was tired, exhausted, sick of movement.

"We'll leave tomorrow," he said, and then, in a more gentle tone, "get some good sleep tonight."

00000000000000

"But Mum, I'm not even tired!" James protested, despite a gigantic yawn that stretched his jaw and closed his eyes. Kate chuckled a little, and tapped him on the head.

"Oh yeah, mister? Loks pretty tired to me," She said. "Besides, Mom had a big day, and she wants to go to bed."

"Well," James said, staring up at her through dark eyelashes. Two dimples winked in his cheeks. "I guess if _you're_ tired, I could go to bed."

"That's my man," Kate said. "You always take such good care of me."

"Well, _somebody's_ got to," he said before crawling under the covers. Kate dusted a quick kiss on the top of his head before heading out and softly shutting the door. She sagged against it for a moment, closing her eyes. The violent movie hadn't helped to calm her nerves at all. It should have. Usually escapes into a fantasy world could do that.

She walked into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Hard to imagine herself as she'd been on the island, all crazy curly hair and freckles. Make-up hid the freckles, and a blow dryer kept the frizz away. She liked the new Kate, liked Kate the mom, Kate the job holder, Kate the responsible, capable woman. But sometimes she wanted to see the Kate she'd been back then.

She took a sponge, wet it quickly, and then rubbed it across her cheeks. A freckle shone through, two when she did it again, then five, and ten, and there was her whole freckled face. One tear welled up in her eyes.

She looked at the phone, lying on her dresser. Jack had said that nobody went to the funeral. Nobody? Nobody at all? Didn't anyone else have questions.

Probably, she realized, but everyone else was like her. They had questions, but they weren't so sure they wanted them answered. But maybe, she thought, maybe. . .

Jack had been right. The people hadn't been hallucinations. She could remember all of them, even if their faces were fading a little, the timbre of their voices lost to the years. She could remember Sayid, standing on the beach, telling her that he had to leave. She remembered Hurley, dancing on the golf course, remembered Juliet, even, that hard face breaking into a smile. And Jin and Bernard. . .she could remember them _being_ on the island. They hadn't died in the crash, Jack was right. There was no way that they'd died in the crash.

And Sawyer. . .that was one face she couldn't forget, if only because she saw him every time James got caught doing something wrong, or wanted to sweet talk her. They hadn't been hallucinations. But that meant that Jack was right, that they had left them behind. She sagged weakly against the bathroom counter.

"All right," she said to herself. She bit her lip, nodded firmly. "All right. Then if Jack's right. . ."

She reached out and grabbed the phone, punched in the numbers quickly, before she had time to second guess. He picked up on the second ring.

"Kate—what. . .?"

"You're right, Jack," she said. "They weren't hallucinations. We need to get them back."

"That's what I've been saying," Jack said, and there was no sound of success in his voice. "But I don't know how, Kate. It doesn't do much good without a plan."

"Locke," Kate whispered. There was silence for a moment. She knew what Jack was thinking, what he was remembering. "Look, Jack, he knew something about that island, he was connected to it somehow. If anyone can find out how to get back to the island he can."

The silence continued. One heartbeat. Two. Kate wondered if she was going to have to do this alone. She'd never been the leader. She didn't come up with the plans, didn't instigate. She acted, but she needed to know what to do, first. Please, Jack, she prayed. Tell me what to do.

"You're right," he said finally. "I'll call him. Tonight. Kate. . ."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure you want to do this? You know what the others will say."

That she was crazy, too. That she was naughty little Kate Austen, not even Austen, that wasn't her name, nothing good, just crazy little bad Kate Austen. She swallowed hard. She wasn't like Wayne. She'd left him behind, left her mother behind, left Tom behind, but that was in the past. She didn't leave anyone behind anymore.

"Yes, Jack. I'm sure."


	3. Chapter 3

Juliet was silent as she made the campfire for the night. Nobody was much in the mood for talking, anyway, not even her. All four of the men stared stonily into the woods. She'd tried talking to them earlier, but gotten nothing for her efforts other than some angry glances. She resented that, a little. After all, they'd killed men who had been her friends with no thought, and now expected to make her feel guilty that their friends had died.

She bit her lip, fighting at the tear that was threatening to spill over. They weren't the only ones mourning, but they wouldn't let her in. Sayid would occasionally pat one of the other men on the shoulders, Sawyer wordlessly handed out food to the men, they were all communicating in a hundred little gestures and movements. And, for that matter, were effectively ignoring her.

It wasn't fair. Those people had mattered to her, too. Maybe she hadn't been friends with all of them, but she'd seen Sun's baby, she'd helped Rose with laundry. Steve (or was it Scott? She'd been introduced to him with two different names) had taught her the best way to shake a mango down from a tree, and Neal had joked with her about his Frogurt stand back home. She'd learned that Janelle had grown up in the same suburb as her. And then, of course, there was Jack.

Even after three years of working at controlling emotions, the thought of him caused that last tear to leak over. Her finger strayed to her lips. She was glad, now, that she had done it. She'd had her doubts at the time. She'd felt Kate's eyes on them, knew what the other survivors had been thinking. She had just wanted one moment when it was just about her. Not about where her allegiances lay, not about what she could offer, but about one man and one woman.

A small sob escaped her. Her shoulders shuddered forward. Why was she even trying to hold it in? The men weren't paying any attention to her-they were all focused on themselves. Why shouldn't she just let herself cry?

Another sob, another choke. Her fingers clutched the khaki of her pants. Damn it, she thought. Why had she ever followed Richard in the first place? Why had she listened to Ben? Why, after all this time, was she _still not able to tell them about the vaccines_?

"Hey," Hurley sat down beside her, his face pale and uncomfortable. "You okay? Dude?"

"They all died," Juliet said, sobbing. "I left my people, I put all of my faith in Jack, and now he's dead, and everyone else is dead, and Ben is dead."

"Yeah," Hurley shifted uncomfortably. Juliet blinked hard, but the tears still fell free. "What am I supposed to do now, Hurley?" she asked. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Stay on the island, for a while longer," Sayid spoke up from her position by the other men. His voice was strong and certain, and betrayed his red-rimmed eyes. "We continue to try to communicate with the outside world. We continue to find a way off the island."

"What's the point?" Bernard asked. He poked a tree branch at the ground, shifting bits of dirt and pebbles.

"So that they did not die alone and forgotten," Sayid said, angrily almost. "So that we can remember them. So that somebody remembers us."

Juliet sniffled, rubbed one sleeve across her nose. She glanced at the men, was surprised to see the differences in their faces. Jin and Bernard wore masks of suffering, resignation, defeat. Sawyer's face was closed and rocky, as steeped in self-loathing as sorrow. But Sayid looked furious, and Hurley looked almost. . .almost hopeful. She forced a smile.

"That sounds better," she said. Sawyer abruptly stood up. Without a word, he turned and began walking west, toward the woods, away from the radio tower.

"Where?" Jin spoke up, for the first time since they'd discovered the bodies. "Where?"

"To find _her_ people," Sawyer ground out, hard between teeth. "To do what Jacko wanted and end this once and for all."

"They aren't responsible for this," Juliet protested.

"I don't care," Sawyer shot back.

"They do have communication," Sayid mused. "You have admitted that much, Juliet." She nodded once, slowly. "If we are going to get out of this hell, we will need their technology. Right now they will be disorganized. Their leader is gone, dead."

"Our leader is Jacob," Juliet said abruptly. She was surprised at the vehemence in her own tone. Did she still believe in Jacob? She wasn't sure herself, but she was very sure that Ben's death wouldn't erase her people's purpose on the island.

"So we're going on, like, another suicide mission?" Hurley asked. Bernard nodded his head. "Can we at least take the van?" he asked with a plaintive note in his voice.

"Then let's go!" Sawyer said. He waved Pickett's gun in the air. Juliet wondered idly when he had taken it out of his pants. "Let's be done with all this talking. Let's just go, let's go!" She wasn't sure that she had ever heard so much desperation in his voice.

"No," Sayid said, and there was a finality in his tone. A small smile pulled at Juliet's lips. There was no doubt who their leader was, now. And, of course, it was the man on the island who trusted her the least. Sayid nodded toward the hut. "We take care of the bodies, first. We dig a grave, and we bury our friends."

Sawyer's jaw clenched, and another tear rolled down Bernard's face. But Jin nodded his head. "Cross," he said. "Cross."

000000000000

Locke stared at the chessboard. Very tricky, he thought, rubbing at his chin. Much trickier than a computer program. Slowly, he moved his knight.

"Check," he typed, the word lighting up on the screen. "Good luck getting out of that one."

A black bishop moved, words appearing, "nice try, old man."

Locke smiled. A simple mistake, there, he thought. A child's mistake. The one problem of playing with a child. He moved a rook.

"Checkmate."

A doorbell rang, an abrupt end to the game. He typed an excuse to his invisible partner and headed to the door. It might be Karl, again. He knew the boy was nervous about the wedding, and he'd been calling with questions regularly. A visit was the logical next step.

When he peered out the peephole, however, he was surprised enough to take a step back, a deep breath. Those were two faces he hadn't expected to see in a long time, if ever again. It had been. . .what. . .six years since they'd last been all together? The trial, or maybe an anti-trial would be a better word, the lawsuit-that-wasn't, when they'd all signed to never speak of the flight again. And received a hefty check for their silence. But it was the conversation after that spoke most loudly, when Kate, he remembered ruefully, had called him a paranoid psychotic and Jack had watched the interaction with an almost cruel smile on his face.

_"It was so good to see everyone again," Claire said, laughing and crying at the same time as she reached up to hug Locke. "But I really should be going home. The sitter will be wondering where I am."_

_"Poor miss," Charlie agreed. "Aaron's a handful on the best of days, but he had a Mallobar at lunch. He'll be hopping off the walls!"_

_"Charlie!" Claire gasped. "You fed him sugar? You know that's not good for a baby!"_

_"Go ahead, Claire," Kate said, squeezing her hand tightly. She glanced at Jack, who smiled and nodded his head. "Sun and I will follow right behind you."_

_"Three for one deal," Charlie whispered to Locke. "We wanted to make sure the sitter was earning her fee."_

_"Before you leave," Locke said, ignoring the younger man. "I just have one question for all of you. Does this feel right?" Everybody stared at him, clearly uncertain what to say. Locke spread his hands. "Our time on the island wasn't over yet. We left too soon. And now. . .now we're in a world that isn't right."_

_"I don't understand," Claire said, pretty brow furrowed. Charlie slid an arm around her waist, a simple expression of love._

_"He's gone wonkers," he said._

_"We have to go back," Locke said. "The island wants us back."_

_"John, even if we wanted to go back, we can't," Kate said, her voice slow and patient as though she were speaking to a child. "I know you've been watching the news on it, what gets leaked, anyway. Nobody has been able to find the island again."_

_"There must be a way," Locke said. "If we try, we can find a way."_

_"We've really got to be going," Claire said uncomfortably. She took Charlie's hand and began walking away. "James and Tian can just spend the night at our place if you two aren't planning on leaving any time soon."_

_"No, no," Sun assured her, at the same time as Kate said, "really, we'll be right behind you."_

_Locke grabbed her arm. "You can feel it, Kate," he said urgently. "The island—"_

_"Is just a place, John," she said, firmly. She tried to pull her arm back, but he kept her in a firm grasp. He knew that she understood. She was one of the ones Jacob had wanted, and that meant she was needed on the island. "John," she said, and now there was a tremor in her voice. "Let me go."_

_"Let her go," Jack said, and the smile that had ghosted around his lips was gone, now. Locke turned to look at him, an abruptly reeled back as pain exploded in his face. His hand came up slowly to his nose. No blood, he realized._

_"Jack!" Kate said. Everyone else had gasped. Locke took a step back as Jack possessively took Kate's elbow and steered her to the door. _

_"Leave us alone, John," he said. Nobody disagreed._

He opened the door, slowly. There had to be a meaning behind this, he rationalized. It had to come back to the purpose, just like everything else did.

"Hello, John," Kate said. She kept her eyes somewhat downcast, never quite meeting his own gaze. He stepped back, allowing her and Jack to enter the room. She looked all right, he thought, a little surprised. Well-dressed and put together, every hair in place and make-up on her face. She looked like she belonged in this world.

Jack on the other hand—Jack looked the way that Locke had imagined everyone should look, haggard and tired and _wrong_. His skin was lighter around his mouth and jawline. A beard had been there, then, recently shaved. Locke had never imagined Jack to be the type for a beard.

"I didn't expect to see you two again," Locke said mildly. He wasn't accusing them of anything, just stating a fact. Kate winced a little at that, but Jack remained silent.

"I'm sorry," Kate said. "We wouldn't have. . .disturbed you but. . ."

"We want to—need to go back," Jack said abruptly. From the glance Kate shot his way, Locke knew that he had been more blunt than the woman would have liked. Locke allowed the smile to bloom on his face. Time, he thought with satisfaction. It was all about time.

"Why did you come to me?" Locke asked. He waved a hand in the air. "Silly question. What do you want me to do?"

"We thought you might have some idea," Kate said. "You just seemed to determined last time."

Locke frowned. He did have some ideas. In fact, in a week he'd been planning to put those theories into practice and see if he could get back. Time. Interesting the way everything fell together.

He looked at their faces. He had to know that they were dedicated to this. The island had chosen them for some reason, but he had to know that they were making this choice themselves. Jack had that desperate look, but Kate. . .he remembered that she had a son, now. Responsibilities. Which was greater, her destiny or her child's?

"I have some ideas," Locke granted. "But there's someone else you should talk to, first. Someone that told me most of what I know."

Jack and Kate stared at each other, she with one eyebrow raised. The smile twisted a little. Locke liked to be in control. He should have been back then, seven years ago. Everything would have worked out better. Everything would have worked out right.

"Fine," Jack said, his tone short and clipped. "Who are we supposed to meet?"

"Not meet so much as reunite," Locke said. He sauntered over to the computer, quickly typed in "Come over now." He turned back to the two people sitting in his living room, beautific smile still plastered across his face. "You remember Walt, don't you?"

000000000

Desmond stared. He didn't know what else to do. He remembered Jack talking about the plan, and blowing up the tents. He'd been prepared for the remains, but not for the bodies lying in the ground, unattended to, or for the tire tracks that ran through the center of the camp. And, he realized ruefully, he'd been expecting people to be sitting on the beach, Claire doing laundry, Kate flirting with Sawyer, Hurley trying to cajole Jin into a game of cards. It had been impossible, he thought tiredly. They'd all hiked to the radio tower. He'd _seen_ Claire getting into the helicopter. He frowned a moment.

He hadn't told Charlie, but there had been something. . .wrong. . .about that flash. It had been blurry, fuzzed, in a way none of the others had been. They were always sharp, the flashes, sometimes colored wrong, sometimes slow or fast, but always very, very sharp. There had been an. . .overlay to that one flash.

He shook his head. Well, he knew where the radio tower was, a rough idea anyway, and he was a competent tracker. He would catch up to the others. A helicopter could never have gotten everybody off already. He'd meet them, wait for

_-I can't do this, I can't do this!_

_-Kate, it's okay, listen to me, I'm here, listen_

_Kate, face pale, sweat pouring, screaming screaming and hands there, on her forehead, holding her hand, and the pain, a ripping inside her._

_-It's not fair, Jack, I can't do this. Damn him, damn him, damn him!_

_-I'm here, shush, I'm here_

_Claire, humming a song, rocking back and forth. A gentle breeze, arms wrapping around her middle, turning, smiling, Charlie smiling back_

_Three children in a playground, one a year or so older than the other two._

_-Please, Jack, please, make it stop, please_

_Locke, smiling, there everywhere, beside Jack and Kate, peering in the window at Charlie and Claire, watching the children_

_-It will come back around_

_-Help me_

_Jacob, Jacob, Jacob, and there's the island, seen from above, small and big, another next to it, or part of it_

_-Where's Jacob? Can you hear him? Can you hear him?_

_-Beloved of God, Jacob, loved by God_

_-Kate, look at your son, he's beautiful_

_-He looks like him. Oh, God, Jack, he looks like Sawyer. Was it real? Was any of it real?_

_4 8 16 23 42_

_Claire putting up curtains_

_Locke playing on the computer with someone, a boy_

_Sun in a little shop, hanging up herbs, a baby gurgling happily in a corner_

_-Help me._

rescue.

Desmond gasped, falling to his knees. His head hung down, hair blinding him as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. Never. . .it had never been like that. He looked up, momentarily unable to see, vision still blocked. Kate with a baby? Locke on a computer? Charlie? Charlie, alive?

He shook his head. It was all so far in the future. Not just a brief flash, a throw-forward, a true glimpse, or a dozen glimpses. He breathed in greedily, air whistling through his nose, down his throat. What the hell was going on?

His knees were still weak when he stood up, but he was standing. Nothing to do for it but go on, he thought. Keep the glimpses close to his chest. They didn't need to know about them, now.

It wasn't Penny's ship. He shook his head. Charlie. . .he thought sadly. He shook his head. If it wasn't Penny's ship, it was still from outside. And he had seen Claire get off the island, even if it had been fuzzy.

But, he reasoned, then again he'd just seen Charlie alive, and that was impossible. A brief moment of panic arrested him. What if these flashes weren't the future? What if they were just hallucinations? What if they didn't mean anything?

Had Charlie just died because he, Desmond, had been wrong?


End file.
